


Boots

by tiny-freakin-head (Hobbitfing)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Boot Worship, Gen, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Shoe Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4579911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitfing/pseuds/tiny-freakin-head
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout's big mouth gets him in trouble yet again, and this time he ends up having to clean the entire team's boots. </p><p>Some of his teammates have interesting ideas when it comes to said cleaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boots

**Author's Note:**

> Transferred over from Y!Gallery.

“Ow! Fuckgoddamit!” Scout had tried kicking a large piece of scrap metal half buried in the grass outside of Engineer’s shop and had instead ripped a large hole in the toe of his cleat, stubbing his toes in the process.

Soldier smirked. He was leaning against the side of the building enjoying a cigar and the late afternoon sun. “Maybe that’ll convince you to get some man’s shoes, instead of your little-boy sneakers.”

Scout rounded on him. “These are cleats not sneakers and I need them because they help me run faster!”

Taking a long, lazy drag of his cigar, Soldier shrugged. “Good pair of boots like mine, well, they’ll do anything for you if you take care of them. As long as you respect them.”

“…they’re just boots, Solly…it’s got nothin’ to do with respect.”

“Of course, you would say that, maggot. You respect nothing and no one.” Seeing that he was substantially more relaxed, lounging in the sun, than usual, Soldier’s voice was almost at a normal human speaking volume, and ‘maggot’ was said almost affectionately.

“I respect lots of things! Like…ah…” Scout’s brow furrowed as he thought. He respected his ma, of course, but it seemed kinda…girly…to admit that. He respected his brothers, he guessed, but that was mostly ‘cause they’d beat the tar out of him if he didn’t (at least to their stupid faces).

“That’s what I thought.” Soldier glanced from his perfect, gleaming, parade-ready boots to Scout’s dirty, frayed, gaping-hole-in-them shoes, letting the boy draw his own conclusions.

“I’ve got lots of respect. Lots.”

“Prove it.”

“Fine! I will!” Scout stepped closer to Soldier, invading his personal space a little.

Soldier didn’t move, he simply stretched the arm holding the cigar out until the glowing tip was perilously close to Scout’s face. “Polish my boots. That will prove that you respect me.”

Scout had enough brains to realize that he had sort of backed himself into a corner on this one. He gave a few half-hearted protests, but finally grumbled, “Fine…”

“Good. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“But your boots are right here! And I’m sure Engie’s got some sorta…something…a rag or whatever…”

Soldier looked disgusted at the thought of some oily, dirty, engineering rag touching his boots. He did a smart about-face and marched back to their quarters.

Scout considered just taking off, but Soldier was like a freakin’ dog with a bone when he got something in his head like this. He would just find Scout later and make him polish the stupid boots, so he waited. He was quite shocked when he saw Solly return about five minutes later, his arms overflowing with pairs of black boots. “What the hell, Solly? I said I’d polish your boots, not…” He tried to think of something witty to say as Soldier carefully spilled his burden on a patch of grass.

“These are my boots, maggot. Seven pairs. One for each day of the week. Now polish them. Luckily for you, they are already clean.” He thrust a shoe shining cloth into Scout’s hand, a can of black polish, and sat himself on a stump to watch.

“Are…are you…yeah, you’re totally serious, arencha?” Scout heaved a dramatic sigh and glowered at the heap of boots. He grabbed the first one and popped open the tin of polish. He was just about to dab the cloth into the black paste when he was startled by Soldier yelling.

“Not like that, private! You work the polish in with your lily-white hands first! The cloth is only for afterwards!”

Scout looked at Soldier. “…seriously? I gotta put my hands in that shit? Ah, fuck it, whatever.”

“A little less sass, private.”

Scout’s middle finger twitched, but he subdued it by dipping his fingers into the polish. He half-heartedly scrubbed the black onto the boot, groaning as he glanced at the huge pile beside him.

“Not good enough, maggot,” Soldier grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “You have to really work it in there. You have to love it.”

“You’re fuckin’ sick, that’s what you are,” Scout muttered under his breath, but he pressed harder, rubbing the polish into the seams and creases of the boot.

“There, that’s it. You work it in there. I, ah, have to go shower.” Soldier strode off, his overcoat mostly hiding the bulge in his crisp uniform trousers.

Scout rolled his eyes. “Stupid boots. Stupid Soldier. Stupid…respect!” But, whatever Scout’s failings might be, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. He finished working the polish into the leather, set the first boot aside to sit for a bit, and grabbed another.

Engineer emerged from his workshop, blinking like a sleepy animal coming out of hibernation in the fading sun. He frowned when he saw Scout. “Hey, there, boy, what’ve I told you about hangin’ about ‘round here?”

“I’m not just ‘hangin’ about’. I’m working. Look.” The Boston boy held up his third boot, thick with black polish.

Engineer whistled, eyebrows disappearing beneath his hard hat. “Well, if that don’t beat all…! Doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere for a spell, I reckon I got some more work for ya.” Chuckling to himself, the Texan ambled back into his shop.

Scout gave his retreating form the finger, making sure there was no way that it could be seen—Engineer did not take kindly to that sort of behaviour. He kept working away at the pile of boots, setting the polished ones aside so the polish could sink in before he used the cloth on them. He had polished boots before, just not so many, or so carefully.

Grinning to himself, Engineer came back a few minutes later, carrying a pair of greasy, paint-spattered, welding-scorched and, ah, quite ripe, work boots. The steel toe was showing through on them. He was also carrying a tin of brown polish and his own cloth. “These boots’ve been good to me, boy, y’hear? If you get any of that black polish on them, I’m gonna tan your hide.” He plonked the boots down beside Scout, handing him the supplies with great dignity (ruined only a little by the fact that his face was flushed with the effort that it took not to laugh).

“Phaugh! These reek! What’d you do, walk through a dump—yessir.” Scout shut his mouth when he saw Engineer’s expression turn serious.

“That’s about what I thought. I’ll come by and pick them up in an hour or so.” With a jaunty wave, the Texan went back into his sanctum.

Spy had an excellent sense of when something was happening—it was his job. So it wasn’t long before he sauntered past, humming softly to himself around his ever-present cigarette. “Ah, bonjour, petit Scout. What are you doing with all of these shoes?”

“Polishing them, what’s it look like, spook?” Scout snarled.

“Ah-ah-ah, that is no way to speak to your comrade.” Spy bent his long frame to examine the boots. “Most of these appear to be Soldier’s, but these are not. Are you offering a shoe-shine service now? I accept.” Spy cloaked, only to reappear a few minutes later holding a pair of his shoes at arm’s length. “I was wearing these when I was jarated this morning. I’m sure you can take care of it. You might want to borrow some water from Engineer. Adieu.”

Scout was too stunned to even respond. The nerve…! And ew. Jarate. Scout eyed the shoes as if he expected them to be dripping bright yellow liquid. He sighed and gently rapped on Engineer’s door to ask for a bucket and a sponge. What the hell. What was one more pair of shoes?

***

“Huh! Huddah huh ha!”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, mumbles!”

With an exasperated-sounding “Huhhhh”, Pyro pointed to his boots, then at Scout. “Huddah huh ha!”

“…you want me to polish your boots? Fine, give ‘em here.”

Pyro shook his head. “Huh.”

“Well, what do you want, then?! I’m kinda busy in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Pyro positioned himself on the stump that Soldier had been sitting on earlier. “Huh. Huh huddah huh ha, huh.”

“…you’re freakin’ kidding me. Fine. Whatever!” Scout plonked himself in front of Pyro with the tin of polish. “They’re all covered in ash and shit, and they reek of propane…! Fine. I’ll get my bucket.” Scout used his sponge to wipe the worst of the grime off of Pyro’s thick boots (luckily he hadn’t gotten to Spy’s piss-covered shoes yet). He started working polish into the extra-thick leather.

Pyro gave a muffled snicker and leaned against the building, gazing down at Scout with his inscrutable black eyes. “Huhhh…” he sighed, sounding very pleased with his service.

When Soldier came back, Scout was down on all fours in front of Pyro, using both hands to work the thick boot black into the leather, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. Pyro was leaning forward, watching Scout very intently, his gloved hands gripping his thighs, straying perilously close to his groin. “I…have to go shower again,” Soldier announced, turning on his heel and marching back the way he had come.

Oblivious to all of this, Scout finished with the polish on Pyro’s boots and took up his cloth. He spat liberally on the leather, his mouth almost touching Pyro’s feet as he worked. In no time, he had the boots—which were usually almost grey with ash and fire-related debris—a gleaming, perfect black.

“Huddah huh!” Pyro said, sounding pleased. He stood a little shakily and headed after Soldier. He mumbled something that could very well have been “I need a shower.”

Medic was next—by now, Spy had probably told everyone. He dropped his knee-high riding boots onto Scout’s lap without a word before striding off back to his infirmary.

Scout was sorely tempted to throw one of them at the smug German, but he just growled to himself and watched Heavy approaching.

“Doktor told Heavy to give leetle Scout shoes for polish. Heavy Weapons Guy shoes do not need polish. Would leetle Scout like help with big pile of shoes?”

“Nah, big guy, I got this.” Scout’s hands were black to the wrist—luckily he had finished Engineer’s before he had gotten too black—and he still had quite a pile, but…well…he had started this, so he may as well see it through.

Heavy smiled and patted Scout on the back before following his doktor.

Scout rubbed the spot before cracking his neck and starting on Medic’s boots.

Demo was the next to arrive, laughing and with Sniper in tow. He lobbed a pair of boots that were even smellier than Engineer’s at Scout, narrowly avoiding hitting the boy in the head. He said something very slurred and with a very thick Scottish accent before stumbling back the way he had come.

Sniper had been acting uncertain and almost shy until Demo left. Then his smile turned predatory and he stepped right into Scout’s personal space. “Lick ‘em,” he growled.

“What the fuck! I’m not licking your—mmm!”

“Nah, I don’t think you understand, mate. I said, lick ‘em.” He grabbed Scout’s hair, knocking his hat off, before the boy could move. In a moment, he had forced Scout’s head down until his lips were almost touching the dusty brown leather. “I can use my knife, too, if you need more…encouragement.”

Bright red and glowering—at least no one was around to see this—Scout experimentally lowered his lips to Sniper’s foot. Blech. He struggled fiercly, trying to crawl away or hit Sniper or anything.

Sniper just held on, his nails digging into Scout’s scalp to keep his grip on the short hair. “You done yet? I can do this a lot longer than you can.”

Hurt and humiliated and quickly exhausted in this position and from his time already spent polishing, Scout finally sank down onto all fours in front of Sniper.

“There. That’s better. Just like breaking a brumby.” Sniper smiled and patted the top of Scout’s head with his free hand. There were a few thin lines of blood on the boy’s scalp.

“You fuckin’ freak! Lemme the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” Scout resorted to using his mouth when it was clear he couldn’t get away.

“Nah, little mate, that won’t do, either.” Sniper shook Scout by the head, his other hand reaching down to seize the boy’s ear in a painful grip. “Try again.”

Growling with rage and shame, Scout bent to the boots—Sniper giving him room to move—and gave the left one a quick swipe of his tongue. “There! You happy?!”

Sniper gave an ambivalent nod. “That’ll do for a start. Keep going.”

Scout tried to glare up at Sniper, but now that his face was touching Sniper’s feet, the assassin wasn’t letting him move back. Furious but unable to do anything for the moment, Scout gave another few licks. His mouth was dry with anger and it was hard to get enough saliva to do much cleaning.

“Yeah, take your time,” Sniper purred, releasing Scout’s ear to rub the boy’s neck.

“You’re…oh my god! You’re fuckin’ getting off on this!”

Sniper laughed unpleasantly. “First off, if you’re talking, you aren’t licking. Second, what do you think Soldier and Pyro are doing right now?”

“Wha—ew! That’s wrong, man! I was only polishing their boots! …fuck!”

Sniper shrugged and pushed the pointed toe of his boot under Scout’s chin, prompting him. “Whatever makes you sleep better, little mate.”

Scout kept licking in long, angry motions, his hands gripping the sides of the boot as though throttling it.

“There, good job. See what you can do with some motivation? Now the other one.” Holding Scout still, Sniper pulled his left foot out from under the boy and replaced it with his right.

His mouth twitching and contorting with fury, Scout bathed Sniper’s boot with his tongue, swallowing occasionally to get rid of the layer of dust in his mouth.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s it…” Sniper sighed, grinning down at his teammate. “Alright, you’re done. Later.” The Australian ambled off to his camper, chuckling to himself.

“Plech!” Scout straightened and rubbing his aching scalp. For a moment he was tempted to throw a boot or something, but…they were all either shiny or covered in polish and it seemed a shame after all that work. Cursing Sniper under his breath, he kept working.

***

As the sun set, a yard light flickered on outside Engineer’s workshop, bringing a flock of moths and other insects to flutter around Scout and land on his sweaty body. He was soon cranky and itchy from swatting the damn things.

When it got too dark for even the yard light to be much use, Engineer took pity on the boy and let him into his workshop, even helping to carry some of the boots.

At last, Scout was done. He fell asleep in a nest of boots. Engineer chuckled and covered the boy with a blanket.

One by one, the other members of the team came to collect their footwear until only Medic’s boots were left—Scout’s head was resting on one of them and he was clutching the other like a teddy.

Heavy carefully entered the building—he had never been invited inside before, or seen a reason to go in. His doktor had sent him to get the boots, but…he scooped up the sleeping Scout in one arm and the boots in the other, carrying the boy off to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favourite TF2 themes is Scout VS Respect :D


End file.
